


First

by Zenniet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: First Time Topping, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Short, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenniet/pseuds/Zenniet
Summary: Request: "Cygate first time, except... they both... thought the other would top. Tailgate just kind of assumed and Cyc's whole "he towers over me" pov on TG. Can they salvage the night and reach a compromise?"Requested from Tumblr





	First

Tailgate had been waiting  _ far _ too long for this moment. He considered himself astronomically lucky to be courting someone like Cyclonus. Tall and strong and menacing and all of that put towards keeping Tailgate from any harm. The little bot just  _ knew _ that deep down, Cyclonus has to have some kind of dominant, possessive streak, and he couldn’t wait to bring that out.

So as they both sat on the berth, charge rising, waiting for the other to make the first move, Tailgate had to be the first one to bring it up. 

“Um… Soooo, are you gonna spike me?” He asked with as sultry a voice as he could manage, sidling up to Cyclonus’ frame. He felt the big mech almost flinch, just a little. Tailgate scanned Cyclonus’ expression and found him actually  _ blushing _ . 

“Cyc, hang on,” Tailgate hummed, “Don’t tell me…” Though Cyclonus only having the reaction of looking down at the berth told Tailgate all he needed to know.

“I had expected-”

“What do you mean ‘you had expected’? I’m like half your size!” Tailgate laughed, finding a space to sit between Cyclonus’ bent knees. “But if you want to try, then I’m okay with trying.”

“Have you ever spiked someone before?” Cyclonus asked, his voice unsure and wavering and  _ incredibly _ embarrassed at this whole ordeal. He’d been looking forward to this night as much as Tailgate had been, he just didn’t expect to have to  _ ask _ to get spiked. 

“N- well, no,” Tailgate’s servo slid down Cyclonus’ shin in a half-soothing petting motion, “But I haven’t ever  _ been _ spiked, either. I wasn’t up and moving for very long before I met you.”

“Oh,” Cyclonus balked. How had he forgotten? “Then I c-”

“No no! If it’s what you want, then I’d love to spike you!” Tailgate redoubled his efforts to keep Cyclonus from backing out, “I just never thought that anyone would want to get spiked by a minibot…”

“Well, my dear Tailgate,” Cyclonus leaned down, his clawed digits ghosting down Tailgate’s front, “I would  _ love _ to be spiked by you.”

“Yeah! Okay! You have to tell me if I do something wrong, though.” He laughed, urging Cyclonus to lean back into the berth. “Let’s see…” 

Small white servos started at Cyclonus’ chest, stroking down to find sensitive seams along his sides. Tailgate’s slim digits fit against and into them easily, rubbing against wires and sensors that made Cyclonus sigh.

“Is that good?” Tailgate asked, already proud of himself and eager to do more.

“Wonderful, Tailgate,” Cyclonus let himself lean back against the pillows behind him, allowing his sensor net to simply take in what Tailgate was doing. The ministrations of his partner’s little digits were unlike anything he’s felt before, he’d never been with anyone small enough to actually reach into his seams to pluck at his wires.

Tailgate moved lower down, finding seams along Cyclonus’ pelvic plating and inner things, to which he gave the same treatment. His field eagerly reached out to Cyclonus’, longing to know just how well he was doing. If the soft, gentle encouragement and pleasure that wafted through the bigger mech’s EM was anything to go by, he was doing great.

Eventually, Tailgate made his way to Cyclonus’ valve panel, lubricant already beading at the edges. One thumb stroking up its length was all it took to have Cyclonus opening up for his mini.

Tailgate’s spike nudged against Cyclonus’ slick valve folds, his thumb idly circling the bigger mech’s red anterior node. In one regulated thrust, Tailgate pushed into Cyclonus’ valve.

Back arching ever so slightly off the berth, Cyclonus gave a pleased gasp, half lidded optics gazing to Tailgate’s visor. Tailgate set a slow, gentle pace at first, just to test the waters.

“You’re doing splendidly, Tailgate,” Cyclonus sighed, one servo reaching down to rest against the small of Tailgate’s back, gently urging the pace forward. The mini took the message, all the more eager to frag his partner into the berth. Gradually, he worked up to a more powerful, stronger pace that was bound to leave paint transfers and maybe a dent or two.

Cyclonus didn’t even realize that his pedes had left the berth so his shins could bracket Tailgate’s slim waist. He didn’t realize until Tailgate threw his arms over Cyclonus’ legs so he could hold onto purple thighs. What made him notice was the digits digging into seams and prodding at the wires there, sending shocks of charge to add to what Tailgate was already giving him.

Than, Tailgate shifted their position and Cyclonus was seeing stars. He gasped, his helm digging back into the pillows behind it.

“Oh-! Are you okay?” Tailgate stilled, a servo reaching out to gently rest on Cyclonus’ chest.

“More than, Tailgate,” His large, clawed servo held Tailgate’s and put it back to hold onto his thigh, “Can you keep doing whatever that was?”

“O-okay, yeah,” He nodded and resumed his thrusting, drawing out more and more moans from Cyclonus. 

Tailgate  _ indulged _ in those delicious sounds, the low, growling rumbles, the needy, choked out gasps, and the beautiful permissive moans that cried his love to the stars. He couldn’t believe that he held the ability to bring Cyclonus to this.  _ Cyclonus _ , one of the most feared mechs on the ship. And he was putty in Tailgate’s servos. 

With the beauty and commanding allure of the mech laid out under him, Tailgate didn’t even notice the light scoring and scratches that Cyclonus’ claws wrought on his paint. Likewise, Cyclonus didn’t notice what he was doing to Tailgate’s frame, either. Under normal circumstances, he would  _ never _ bring any harm to his little partner.

One more slam of Tailgate’s spike into Cyclonus’ ceiling node brought Cyclonus over the edge, his back arching and claws digging into Tailgate’s plating, legs closing around the minibot to keep him inside. The pulsing and fluttering of Cyclonus’ valve around his spike drew him over too. With an almost surprised yelp, Tailgate overloaded hard into his partner’s willing valve.

It was only when Cyclonus relaxed back onto the berth and let his grip on Tailgate’s frame slacken did he realize the pinpoint marks he had left in the pristine white plating. As soon as those tiny dents made themselves known, Cyclonus was leaning forward to inspect them.

“Hey, hey,” Tailgate’s servo gently held Cyclonus’ much larger one as it worried at the marks. He guided it up from his hip to his waist, where Cyclonus allowed his digits to lightly hold the blue plating. “Don’t worry about that.”

Cyclonus couldn’t pin down a single thought going through his processor, in contrast to how calm and steady he usually was. Had Tailgate really not spiked anyone before? Was his valve still sealed? Did he enjoy-

Tailgate found space next to Cyclonus on the berth, nestling next to him and bringing Cyclonus’ racing processor to a halt. Cyclonus was always so much warmer than the minibot, and though Tailgate didn’t know why, he enjoyed it. With his digits laced between Cyclonus’, he guided the big mech into a relaxed recharge, which he soon joined.


End file.
